


Prey

by there_must_be_a_lock



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dom Sam Winchester, F/M, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Smut, Soulless Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:47:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23300371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/there_must_be_a_lock/pseuds/there_must_be_a_lock
Summary: It’s not about seduction, not really. It’s just another hunt.
Relationships: Sam Winchester/Reader
Comments: 15
Kudos: 62





	1. 1/2

He should check in with Samuel, probably, but… well, he just doesn’t want to.

Sam’s hungry in a restless, itchy way that has nothing to do with food. It’s making his skin crawl. He drives right past the motel and keeps going, squinting through the rain until he spots a seedy bar, neon lights unmistakeable even through the steady downpour.

He’s half-soaked by the time he makes it through the door, and he shakes his head impatiently, sending droplets flying, before tucking his hair behind his ears and assessing his surroundings. Three dumpy middle-aged men at one table, no doubt talking shit about their wives; a biker and his girl playing pool, skin the same texture as their leather jackets; a cluster of trashy bottle-blonds sneaking glances at him from one end of the bar; and at the other end… yeah, that’s more like it.

She’s tossing her head back to drain the last of her beer and Sam feels hot all over with the urge to wrap his fingers around the smooth curve of her throat. It’s like his vision tunnels down, blacking out everything that isn’t her, as he stalks across the room.

He leans against the bar next to her just as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. She sets the bottle down with slightly more force than necessary, and there’s a pissy little twist to her mouth. She’s even prettier up close, and she’s wearing a thin cotton v-neck that shows just a hint of cleavage, and Sam wants to sink his teeth into her.

“This seat taken?” he asks softly, and she can’t hide the way her eyes widen when she looks at him.

“Well,” she says slowly, “it should’ve been, but… looks like I got stood up.”

“His loss.” He slides onto the stool and flags down the bartender.

Every nerve in his body is screaming at him to _pounce_. He imagines slamming her against the bar and ripping the flimsy cotton of her shirt, right down the center, tearing it apart and leaving a trail of bruises down her breastbone.

She’s looking at him sideways, wary, and he gives her a disarming smile before ordering beers for both of them.

She doesn’t seem like the type to go home with a stranger. He’ll have to play his cards right.

They sip their beers slowly and exchange small talk; this is the easy part. Sam could ask the right questions in his sleep. He pitches his voice low like a secret, angling himself toward her, leaning in close, drawing her in. When he tells her she has beautiful eyes she blushes and grins. She drops her gaze to his mouth when he licks his lips. By the time their drinks are gone, Sam knows he’s got her.

He stands and sidles closer, resting one big palm on the curve of her waist, and she shivers when he whispers against her ear: “Can we get out of here?”

She’s frozen, for a moment, poised breathlessly on the edge of a decision. He doesn’t back away.

He’s close enough to smell her, the clean scent of her shampoo and a hint of perfume, and when he looks down he can see her pulse under the thin bare skin of her neck. Time to go in for the kill.

He lets his hand slide lower, until he can brush his thumb against the hem of her shirt where the waistband of her jeans digs into the flesh of her hips. He slips the pad of his index finger under the fabric and caresses the soft little roll of skin there, and he hears the way her breath catches.

She nods.

It’s raining even harder now, fat frigid drops that soak through their clothes by the time they make it to the car. She gasps, pushing wet hair out of her face, and in the slice of watery light that’s coming through the windshield he can see the way her shirt has gone translucent, clinging to the hard, obvious peaks of her nipples. Heat twists low in his stomach.

“Can I kiss you?” he makes himself ask, even though he knows the answer.

When she smiles, he twists awkwardly over the gearshift to slide a hand into the wet tangle of her hair and tug, holding her right where he wants her. It’s like she melts in his grip, her head falling back to give him easier access. He deepens the kiss, dragging his teeth over the plump curve of her lower lip and sucking hungrily, and her breathy little sigh makes his cock throb.

He can barely force himself to pull away. Her lips are full and bruised, parted around quick breaths, and Sam wants to bite down until he tastes blood.

He drives fast.

They get soaked all over again running to the door of his motel room, and it takes him forever to wiggle the key the right way. When he finally turns on a lamp and looks at her, she’s just standing there shaking, arms wrapped around herself, eyes huge and hungry as he walks toward her slowly.

“I’ll warm you up,” Sam whispers. It’s a cheesy line but she smiles through chattering teeth and lets him pull her shirt over her head and toss it aside. It lands with a wet slap as Sam bends down to kiss her, hands gripping her hips. Her skin is clammy and goosebumped but her mouth is hot, opening easily under his, and she groans when he ducks his head and nips at her pulse. He gets her jeans open and yanks them down sharply. She almost stumbles as the wet denim catches on her thighs, but she kicks them off and straightens up unsteadily.

Sam grabs her wrists and holds her arms down at her sides before she can try to cover herself. He looks her up and down slowly, taking in all the bare skin on display. He expected her to blush and shy away; that’s what most of them do. Instead she lifts her chin almost defiantly and lets him stare. When he meets her gaze, there’s a glint of a dare in her eyes, an unspoken challenge, and he grins in response.

The edge of her bra is scalloped white lace, thin and transparent. He bends down and drags his mouth over the trim, barely brushing it, letting her feel the warmth of his breath through the damp fabric. There’s a tiny bow nestled between her breasts, right in the center, and he presses a gentle kiss to the skin just above it. Then he flicks his tongue out, sliding the tip of it between her soft skin and the scratchy lace. He licks under the fabric, teasingly close to her nipple, until a whine catches in the back of her throat, and when he drags his teeth down and closes them ever so gently around the taut peak, he can feel her wrists twitch in his grip. He reaches around to unhook the clasp of her bra, and as it falls away he mouths at the exposed skin one more time.

“Bed,” he growls, and shoves her back as he straightens up. She stumbles, but goes without hesitating as Sam shucks his shirt and jeans, leaving him in nothing but his black boxer-briefs. She sits back against the headboard and watches him approach with her head tilted appraisingly, looking him up and down, just as shameless as he’d been about checking her out.

He slides onto the bed and starts to crawl toward her, but he pauses on all fours, his hands on either side of her feet, watching the way she’s smirking down at him.

She raises an eyebrow. “Waiting for a formal invitation?”

This one’s got an attitude; she’s trying to keep her composure, but it only makes Sam more determined to see her fall apart. A challenge will be a nice change of pace.

He moves fast, grabbing her ankles and tugging her toward him without warning, and she lets out a surprised little squeak at finding herself flat on her back.

Sam settles more comfortably between her spread legs. He runs his palms up her thighs, deliberately slow, feeling the way she shivers at the touch. She shifts slightly, tilting her hips like an invitation. Sam grazes one thumb up her center as he runs his hands up the dip where her legs meet her hipbones, feeling damp heat through the flimsy fabric, and she lets out a barely-there whimper.

He hooks his fingers into the elastic of her panties, sliding them down, and she bends her legs and twists awkwardly until she can kick them off. Before she can get comfortable again he grabs her, one hand behind each knee, hoisting one leg up over his shoulder as he folds forward. He presses her other thigh down and back, spreading her open.

He buries his face between her legs, nuzzling in close as he fucks her shallowly with his tongue, completely surrounded by the musky-salty-sweet smell and taste of her. She hums happily as he gives her a long, messy lick and then massages her clit with the flat of his tongue. He takes it easy at first; she’s wet, but nowhere near losing it, and Sam wants to make her _lose it_.

There’s something about this that sets off all these primal reptile-brain urges. It’s the taste, or the smell, or the intimacy, or maybe the vulnerability… she’s sprawled out like a feast for him, ready and waiting, and Sam wants her hard, fast, _right fucking now_ , but instead he’s going to take his time. He’s going to take her apart, piece by piece, drive her fucking insane, until she’s wrecked and helpless and _his_.

It’s not about seduction, not really. It’s just another hunt.

So Sam takes it easy. He takes the time to learn her body, caressing with his lips and tongue, teasing, figuring out what she likes, letting her warm up slowly and get comfortable with him, until his chin and mouth and cheeks are slick. She makes those dainty noises women seem to think are expected of them; they’re performative. He wants to hear _her_ , not a generic porn soundtrack.

He slips two long fingers into the silky heat of her, giving her something to clench down around, and he gets his mouth on her clit, giving it a slow open-mouthed kiss with a hint of suction. Her hands flutter at her sides, fingers twisting in the sheets, as she whines softly.

When Sam sneaks a glance up at her, she’s looking down at him and biting her lip, her eyes heavy-lidded and dazed. He suppresses a smile and does it again, and her head falls back, baring the long column of her neck, as her other leg hooks around his shoulder and her heels dig into his back, holding him close.

He’s gentle at first, and then he sucks harder and her thighs start to shake. She’s gritting her teeth; he can hear her trying to hold back, feel her trying to hold still, but her hips are twitching up helplessly, her self-control eroding as he gradually ups the intensity. He wraps one arm around so that he can flatten a hand over her lower belly and hold her down against the mattress, and he uses what little leverage he has in this position to rock forward as he sucks, a rhythmic back-and-forth pulse of friction. He keeps it up, steady and even, and he has to hold her in place as she tries to buck up against his mouth.

He can feel her getting close. She’s breathing harsh and ragged now, cursing in a strained high-pitched voice, nothing performative or pretty about it.

Her thighs are tense and quivering where they’re wrapped around his ears, and he can barely breathe, surrounded by all that soft hot skin with his mouth on her slippery-wet cunt. She’s going to smother him, or maybe drown him, and Sam’s going to die happy.

She gets one hand in his hair and twists sharply, and Sam’s groan is muffled where his mouth is pressed against her, but he can’t help rocking down into the mattress, achingly hard.

“Mother _fucker_ ,” she grits out, voice breaking, and then she’s spitting out curse after curse, guttural and hoarse: “Fuck, _fuck_ , yes, fu- _fuck_.”

He slips a third finger into her, twists them in deep, and he feels the shudder through her whole body as she comes: legs quaking, belly twitching, every muscle spasming and releasing with tiny shockwaves, cunt pulsing around his fingers, and Sam can hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, thumping out a counterpoint to her gasping, sobbing cries.

She goes completely limp with the release. Sam eases up, but doesn’t take his mouth off her; he keeps laving his tongue over her gently, drawing out the aftershocks.

He sneaks a look up at her. She’s got one hand over her own mouth as she pants, her chest heaving with the deep breaths, so he can’t see her face, but he can see the way she’s trembling all over. He can see the patchy red flush down her neck, the sheen of sweat, the way she shudders when he presses his fingers up and traces circles on her g-spot.

He swirls his tongue over her swollen clit with a little more pressure and she hisses, squirming.

“Jesus, okay, _okay_ ,” she gasps, “Enough.”

Sam lets her hear the chuckle in the back of his throat. Then he’s fitting his mouth to her, licking and slurping with this wildly obscene noise, savoring the way she floods his tongue and the way she shrieks and writhes and tries to wriggle away.

“Too much,” she protests, in a high, strained voice. “Too - too much, I - oh, fuck, _yes_.”

She thrashes under his hands, like she’s torn between wanting to get away and wanting to grind against his face until she’s screaming again. She doesn’t have much of a choice, with Sam’s hands pinning her down.

He keeps his eyes on her, this time, mouth working her clit hard and fast as he watches her; he can see the muscles in her neck cording with the tension as she clenches her jaw, and he can see the drops of sweat rolling down her chest, the underside of her breasts and the way they jiggle when she slams her head back and arches up as Sam sends her over the edge again. It comes on quick this time, almost violently intense, and she shouts wordlessly as her body goes rigid for one long frozen moment.

 _Shit_ , he wants her. He ruts down against the mattress, too hard to hold back. His vision is going hazy red at the edges.

He uses her thigh as a pillow and pulls his fingers out slowly, watching her stretch around his thick knuckles as they come out glistening. He licks his fingers clean and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

Sam can feel his lip curling in a snarl. She’s not watching him, at least; she’s got both hands over her face as she tries to pull herself together.

He schools his facial features into something more human, and he waits.


	2. Two

He gets up and gets a glass of water, chugging it down before refilling it for her. She looks more composed when he comes back. She’s flushed, sweaty, still breathing heavy, but she shoots him a satisfied smile as she takes the glass. Sam pastes on a bland smile of his own as he takes off his boxer-briefs and slides back into bed next to her.

When she passes the glass back, Sam twists around to put it on the nightstand, and then she’s swinging a leg over his lap to straddle him. He rests his hands gently on her thighs and takes a second to appreciate all the bare skin on display. She curls warm fingers around the base of his cock, positioning herself over him, and then she pauses for a moment, raising an eyebrow at him silently.

“Consider this your formal invitation,” Sam smirks, and her breathy laugh turns into a groan as she sinks down with one smooth movement.

Sam grits his teeth and grabs her hips, squeezing harder than he probably should, adjusting to the way she feels: slick velvet heat, so fucking good he can barely see straight. It takes every bit of his self-control to fight that animalistic urge to _fuck_ , to just piston his hips up and drive in deep.

Instead he lets her set the pace, and she doesn’t seem to be in any rush. She moves slowly, adjusting, shifting forward and back, and Sam watches the way her eyes flutter closed, the way she bites her lip. She’s sitting up, and Sam has a stellar view of the little twitches of muscles working in her abs, the tremors that are still running through her thighs, as she rocks her hips. She’s putting on a show for him, running her hands up her own torso; she palms her breasts and pinches her nipples, and Sam lets out a low noise of encouragement.

When she leans back, resting her weight behind herself, it changes the angle; Sam can hear her soft moan at the same moment he feels the rippling squeeze of her pussy around him as he presses into some new spot deep inside her. She lets out a sigh and rolls her hips. Sam stares hungrily at the place where their bodies come together, her cunt stretched tight around the flushed-dark, glistening-wet base of his cock. He rocks up into her slightly and she gasps, letting her head fall back on her shoulders, arching her back.

“ _Fuck_ yeah,” she groans. He adjusts his grip on her waist and rocks up again, harder, with a sharp jerk of his hips. The impact makes her breasts bounce and jiggle. He imagines what she’ll look like later, all that smooth pretty skin marked up by his teeth and fingernails.

She’s panting, now, bucking her hips up, matching the rhythm of his quick, shallow thrusts. He can feel her cunt pulsing and clenching around him, hot and slick and throbbing.

“Look at you,” he says approvingly. “Didn’t think you could get any wetter, the mess you made all over my face, but I can feel you dripping down my cock right now… you’re gonna come again, aren’t you?”

“Don’t stop,” she chokes out, screwing herself down on him with frantic, jerky movements.

“Nowhere _near_ done with you yet,” Sam promises, and he can hear the way she whimpers at that, the way she clenches down hard and fast, and she throws her head back with a broken shout and a long, filthy moan as she comes. Sam fucks her through it, closing his eyes against the obscene sight of her heaving chest and belly: nipples tight and hard, sweat streaking down the swells of her breasts, hips twitching, his fingers digging into her flesh so hard he knows he’ll leave bruises.

He gives her a minute, waiting for the shudders to stop. She lets out a satisfied little sigh, hips still working in languid circles, and he tugs her forward for a kiss.

He flips them without pulling out, just rolling her easily onto her back and grinding in deep, and she lets out a surprised yelp that turns into a long, drawn-out whimper.

She’s loose-limbed and pliant, still riding the high of the last orgasm; he knows it’ll take some time before she’s begging for another. She’ll get there, though. She’s slick and relaxed and ready for him, taking every slow thrust with a little hum of pleasure. She runs her hands up and down Sam’s back, his arms, his shoulders, gently urging him deeper, touching him like she’s just reveling in the sensation.

Sam marvels at how _trusting_ she looks. Her lips are curved up in a sweet smile, blissed-out and peaceful. Her body welcomes him in with every roll of his hips. He’s got her pinned, helpless, so soft and unsuspecting and eager. He could do anything to her right now.

He hitches her leg up higher around his waist and pulls almost all the way out before he pauses, just the head of his cock inside her. She whines, eyes fluttering open to give him a look that’s almost petulant in her surprise. Sam grins.

“Don’t tease,” she says, all breathy and delicate.

“It’s only teasing if you don’t follow through,” Sam smirks. He sinks in slow, inch by inch, perfectly controlled, feeling the way she arches her back and tilts her hips and stretches around him, until he’s buried as deep as he can be and she’s practically purring with satisfaction. He shifts and tries it again, experimenting, gauging her reactions.

So maybe he is teasing, but it’s _fun_.

She bites her lip when he twists his hips a certain way, whimpers when he grinds against her swollen clit, digs her fingernails into his back when he slides out torturously slow… Sam feels like he’s playing an instrument as he watches her respond to each tiny change in the friction between their bodies.

She’s starting to cross the line between pleasure and need, clenching down around him and panting as she tries to pull him in closer.

He shifts his weight and finds _that_ angle again, the one that made her gasp and squirm, and when he drives in deep he can feel what it does to her. She practically chokes on her sharp inhale, eyes rolling back, and her silky cunt is flooded with this rush of wet heat, so goddamn good that it takes every bit of Sam’s willpower to hold back.

He sets a steady pace, not quite enough to tip her over the edge, just fast enough to push her to the edge and keep her there.

Sam’s muscles start to protest the even, unchanging rhythm, but it’s worth it to see that expression on her face, the way her pretty features start to contort into a grimace. It doesn’t take long before she’s cursing and clawing at his shoulders, nails biting into the skin and leaving fiery trails as they drag down his back.

“Oh, come _on_ ,” she groans. Sam grins to himself.

“Something wrong?”

“Come _on_ , fucking _fuck_ me,” she snaps. “I’m not gonna break.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Sam growls.

Her voice is ragged, but there’s a challenge in it as she hisses, defiant: “C’mon, is that the best you’ve got?”

Sam slams into her and stops, abrupt and immediate, tension coiling in his muscles as he forces himself to freeze. He can feel her twitching and writhing, squeezing around the length of his cock where he’s splitting her open, trying to force him to move. He’s shoving her down into the mattress and holding her, pinning her with his weight. She’s helpless.

He can hear the moment she realizes it; her voice catches on a curse and trails off as she realizes, belatedly, how badly this could go. Sam smiles and wonders how long it’s been since someone heard that challenge in her voice for what it was.

“On your knees,” he snaps, and he pulls out, sitting back on his heels and waiting. He watches her impassively as she stares, wide-eyed, making a decision. He can see the frantic cornered animal in her battling with the pure desperate lust, and lust wins, like he thought it would; this is _exactly_ what she wanted, whether she’s willing to admit it or not.

She scrambles onto her hands and knees, arching her back like a cat in heat and spreading her legs, putting her glistening-wet cunt on display for him. She’s offering herself up to him, utterly shameless, and he takes a moment to appreciate the filthy pornographic sight.

Then he sidles up behind her, shoving her knees farther apart so that he can kneel between them. He bends forward slowly, deliberately, draping himself over her, curling one arm around her ribs, gentle like a caress. He tangles the other hand in her hair. Then he _yanks_ , forcefully hauling her upright, making her cry out and almost lose her balance. He holds her in place with a palm flat against her breastbone, her back to his chest, and she clutches at his forearm, whimpering.

When he releases his grip on her hair and slides his hand down to her lower belly instead, she lets her head loll back against his shoulder, baring her throat for him. His cock is still wet from her, still rock-hard and aching, and when he presses his hips forward, she sucks in a labored breath and grinds back against him.

“Now,” Sam whispers, deathly calm, against her ear. “Was there something you wanted to say?”

She bites out each syllable, enunciating with exaggerated care: “Is _that_. The _best_. You’ve _got_?”

Sam clenches his jaw, tamping down the white-hot flare of anger. He’s not going to be the one to lose control here.

He inches his hand down to her slick, swollen entrance, sliding two fingers in, up to the second knuckle. She groans low in her throat. He can feel her knees shaking, threatening to buckle.

He raises his hand to eye level so that they can both see the wet shine on his fingertips. He holds them to her mouth and waits. Slowly, obediently, she licks them clean.

Then he pushes deeper, rough and careless, shoving them between her parted lips until she starts to gag.

He doesn’t have to say a word; Sam’s pretty sure she gets the message.

He eases up, letting her draw a strangled breath, but he keeps his fingers pressed down on her tongue as a reminder. Her body is stiff and tense against his, trembling slightly, and he can feel her heartbeat pounding under his palm.

“Let’s try that again,” he whispers. “Was there something you wanted to say?”

He smiles smugly as she tries to answer. With her tongue trapped under his fingers, the words come out as choked, garbled noise. He pulls them away, just rests them on her bottom lip, and lets her try again.

“Please,” she croaks. Her cheeks are flushed deep red; it might be shame, or arousal, or a combination of both.

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me. _Hard_.”

“That’s better,” he snarls, and he shoves her down on all fours.

She’s trying to brace herself, pushing up onto her forearms, but Sam’s done waiting. He grabs her hips and shoves in all at once, hard and fast, groaning as he’s enveloped by feverish drenching heat.

He runs his hand down her spine, from the nape of her neck down the sweeping curve of her back, all the way down to palm the plush swell of her ass. It’s unreal how _tight_ she feels in this position; he’s got her stuffed full, her cunt clamping down in pulses of slippery pressure as she tries to adjust to the stretch, and she’s rocking back like she wants more even as she lets out a broken, helpless sob. It feels like he could rip her apart with one rough thrust.

Then again, that’s sort of the point, isn’t it?

He gets this _hunger_ , this urge to destroy, to take something beautiful and tear it to shreds, and maybe he could go find a fight or he could take what he wants by force, but where’s the fun in that? He’s the apex predator; nobody else would stand a chance if it was a matter of pure strength.

But here she is, face-down and squirming, not only _letting_ him break her but _desperate_ for it. That takes skill.

“Sure you don’t want me to go easy on you?” he asks softly. “You might thank me for it, later.”

She lets out a shaky moan. “ _Anything_. I can take it, just - whatever you want. Anything you want. _Please_.”

There’s a dark thrill of need at the base of Sam’s spine, a red haze at the edges of his vision, wildfire surging under his skin.

Any animal can hunt, trap, kill… how many can make their prey enjoy it?


End file.
